I saw old Duchesses with their young Loves,
I, in a pair of very shabby gloves;
Even my shapeless garments could not make me sad,
For I remembered I was young as you, dear Lad.
That I am lovelier without my dress,
Gave me sweet wanton happiness.

Oh, the anchor's aweigh, the anchor's aweigh, Farewell,
fare you well, my own true love. At last we parted on the
shore, As the tears rolled gently from her eyes. “Must you go leave me
now,” she did say, “That I face this all alone?” Oh, the

Flowers hast thou in thyself, and foliage,
And what is good, and what is glad to see;
The sun is not so bright as thy visàge;
All is stark naught when one hath looked on thee;
There is not such a beautiful personage
Anywhere on the green earth verily;
If one fear love, thy bearing sweet and sage
Comforteth him, and no more fear hath he.
Thy lady friends and maidens ministering
Are all, for love of thee, much to my taste:
And much I pray them that in everything
They honour thee even as thou meritest,
And have thee in their gentle harbouring:

One sunniest morn among youth's sunny days
When all the light of life—like that which passed
The eastern panes, and tinted glories cast—
Was summerhued for me with rainbow rays.

One happiest hour in all the hours I've knelt
And prayed for happiness. All sorrow-pain
That ever saddened me returned in vain:
Life's burden fell when love unloosed the belt.

The holiest time in church I ever spent;
Not there to rest awhile and idly think
Or dream, but every word with thought to link.
For love was crowned in that new sacrament.

My face is as brown as a berry,
You'd never take me for a swell:
But that will not make me less merry,
So long as my girl loves me well.

That kettle is just like your lover:
Outside 'tis as ugly as sin;
But go now, and lift up the cover—
Perhaps there's a chicken within.

And look at that hedgehog out yonder:
He's ugly enough for a show;
And his bristles, why, they are a wonder—
And yet he's good eating, you know.

So if you will marry me early—
So if you'll be gentle and true—
You'll find that I'll love you as dearly

Daisies, does he love me?
Daisies, tell me true.
“Loves me does not love me”
That will never do!
Why, you know, you daisies,
Whatever you may say,
He stole that knot of riband
I wore the other day.

Daisies, one more trial;
Let your petals fall.
“Loves me does not love me
Loves me,” after all!
Thank you, darling daisies,
And if it ends that way
I'll wear you in a garland
Upon my wedding day.

Love should be pure and passionate, a thing
Of flame and flowers frail, elusive, bright,
A sudden splendour, a most proud delight,
Tender as flowers by day,
And fierce as fire by night,
A singing wonder ever on the wing,
A magical, mad mood too sweet to stay.

Love is an inspiration which reveals
The grace of the beloved to our glad eyes,
So we who worship vehemently are wise,
Since shy, strange beauty slips
For us her dark disguise;
And softly from her secret hiding steals,
And passion comes to us with laughing lips.

Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
I am with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be steadfast friend.
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Say thou lov'st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures:
Nay, and after death in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now when in my May of youth,
This my love assures.

One's own lips are his heart's best enemies,
And their report True Love but faintly heeds:
O Friend, forget both words and silences,
And learn to read great love in little deeds!

The blooming flowers, the galaxies of space,
Lie pictured in a sheeny drop of even;
And globed in one round word, on lips of grace,
Shine out the best of earth and all of heaven.